Hetalia: City Academy
by Ame to Yume
Summary: "Sekai Gakuen is a prestigious private school in Japan that welcomes students from all around the world. Well, one of those students is me - Charlotte Williams, the anthropomorphic representation of Ottawa. I am lucky, though, because, well...I go to a school for cities." Rated T for swears, and some disturbing imagery.


Hetalia: City Academy

Chapter One

Sekai Gakuen is a prestigious private school in Japan that welcomes students from all around the world. Well, one of those students is me - Charlotte Williams, the anthropomorphic representation of Ottawa. I am lucky, though, because, well...

I go to a school for cities.

Well, it isn't exactly called that way, and Daisuke rolls his eyes but doesn't correct me when I say _school for cities_, and he's the principal's younger brother! He is also the representation of Tokyo, among other things, and he had been the one who urged me to write this diary and tell the story of what happened the last semester.

If you work in any government around the world, you probably know everything about us, the representations. If not, then you stroll by the imposing mansion that hosts the academy, look at its ivy-covered walls and think, just like all the good people in Tokyo, that the Sekai Gakuen is just a pretentious boarding school for rich, obnoxious, foreign spoiled brats that have nowhere else go. Honestly speaking, that doesn't bother us one bit. It's the reason why no one paid any mind to the long line of limousines that brought my schoolmates and I to the campus last year, in September. I was in one of those limousines, in the back seat and leaning against the window. My brother Jacques sat to my far left while our poor sister Anna wound up sandwiched between us.

I slid out of the car as soon as it stopped in front of the campus and straightened my favorite white-and-red dress, when I heard the high-pitched greetings of my classmates, greetings that are, probably, normal in all boarding schools across Japan. Well, not so normal when they're in Portuguese and German.

"Hey, Charlie! Did you miss me?" chirped a voice

It was Hildegard "Hilda" Beilschmidt, with her hand on her hip and a bright smile on her face, trying to look like Miss Berlin (which she probably was), but ending up looking like an albino in a German military uniform. I missed her so much, but I was very afraid to hug her.

I took one from Mr. Romano's book. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Don't ask. Prussia made me wear this." she said, rolling her eyes, like she was supposed to be smarter than that

It was true, no doubt. I mean, we're all geniuses and the like, but you don't get to discover the composition of the atmosphere, even when you're a representative. Well, unless you're Hilda. She's not only good at punching people, but she is very intelligent - the brains and brawn, you'd say.

I no longer cared that she looked like a soldier; I just had to hug my friend.

* * *

><p>Some hours later, we were proudly clad in the official uniforms, our palms sliding down the elegant staircase that led to the Grand Hall. Instinctively, I lifted my eyes to the electronic panel above the door, though I knew that everybody spoke their own language in their own accent on the first day. I prayed that the mealtime conversation wouldn't take place in Mandarin or (goodness forbid!) Arabic for at least a week.<p>

As we took our places around our usual table, our minds have been overtaken by something else: fair and mighty Elizabeth Kirkland wasn't there yet.

"Why is she late? my (idiot) cousin Kyle half-asked half-shouted, acting like it was the end of the world "She's never late! What if she quit?" he leaned across the table towards us, needing to make himself understood "Oh my goodness, dudes, what if she got _kicked out?_"

"Kicked out?" I asked "Why'd you say that, Kyle?"

"Well, Lizzie has always been a bit of a rebel." Kyle pointed out

None of us even noticed when he said "a bit", even when, by definition, Liz is a lot of a rebel. No, there was another problem: no one calls Elizabeth Kirkland LIZZIE if they care for their life. When Liz was going to find out about this, Kyle was going to be in a world of pain, her cousin or not.

"Kyle, calm the fuck down." Sabine said calmly, twirling a strand of her long, curly red hair (which would look fabulous if she'd just stop dieing it blonde) and successfully embodying the rude Parisian stereotype "Liz is still here. If she wasn't, Kirkland would've said something by now."

I have to admit, even Sabine Hơng "I made up the whole 'let them eat cake' deal" Bonnefoy made some sense.

Talking like that, we almost didn't notice when Elise Zwingli, also known as Vaduz, squeezed onto the bench between Anneliese and Elek and promptly ruining their lovey-dovey moment. She was holding a piece of paper that had our class schedule on it and was absolutely terrified. I remembered, for a moment, that she was probably the only person in the entire school San Marino could take on in a hand to hand combat. I looked at San Marino and even _she _rolled her eyes.

"We have Covert Ops!" Elise shouted

Of course we do, Sherlock. It's almost common knowledge we have to take Covert Ops starting tenth grade. I mean, we're cities. We've had a hand or perhaps both in the assassinations of some of our countries' bosses, and the like. Just think how Sabine sentenced three thousand aristocrats, most of whom innocent or guilty made-up and/or ridiculous crimes, to the guillotine without even batting an eyelash, then went on to promptly watch the executions all impassive-y _while om-nomming croissants_. I think I said enough.

"Don't worry, OK?" I said, leaning over to Elise and studying the paper in her fragile hands "Kirkland only tells us horror stories from the Battle of Britain and shows us slides, remember? I think we'll be alright."

"But Kirkland is gone!" she said, and _that _caught my attention

"Kirkland is still here." I said, remembering the way I spent all afternoon coaxing Kittania, Kirkland's Scottish Fold, off of the top shelf of the teachers' library

"No, you don't get it." Elise insisted "Kirkland will stick to teaching English and Physics, but just that. He doesn't teach Covert Ops anymore."

Why yes, Mr. Kirkland teaches Physics. After all, what nationality were Isaac Newton, James Prescott Joule, William Thompson Kelvin and Michael Faraday again? Yes, genius: all of them were English.

We studied the teachers, one by one, trying to figure out who else was supposed to teach Covert Ops then. Anneliese voiced that question before I had the chance to, though:

"Then _who _teaches Covert Ops?"

We almost didn't notice when Liz took the empty seat between Sabine and Ingvild, and I had to look at her for a few seconds before I remembered we considered her lost in a mission.

"Problems, ladies?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: At first I wanted to tell you who each and every person is, but then I gave up and decided just to give hints. You guys aren't stupid, so I don't have to beat you over the head with everything. That's insulting.**

**Love, **

**Ame to Yume**


End file.
